n had moved on, and its pounding on the
rails became a distant roar and then was lost altogether, the country
silence so impressed Jack, as he walked along the road towards the sea,
that he became distinctly conscious of the sound of his own footsteps.
He stopped and listened. Yes, there were other sounds--the twitter of
birds in the bushes by the roadside, the hum of insects, and the faint
rhythmical murmur of lapsing waves on the shore.

And now the house came in view--first the big roof, and then the latticed
windows, the balconies, where there were pots of flowers, and then the
long veranda with its hammocks and climbing vines. There was a pink tone
in the distant water answering to the flush in the sky, and away to the
west the sand-dune that made out into the Sound was a point of light.

But the house! Jack's steps were again arrested. The level last rays of
the disappearing sun flashed upon the window-panes so that they glowed
like painted windows illuminated from within, with a reddish lustre, and
the roofs and the brown sides of the building, painted by those great
masters in color, the sun and the sea-wind, in that moment were like
burnished gold. Involuntarily Jack exclaimed:

"It is the Golden House!"

He made his way through the little fore yard. No one was about. The
veranda was deserted. There was Edith's work-basket; there were the
baby's playthings. The door stood open, and as he approached it he heard
singing--not singing, either, but a fitful sort of recitation, with the
occasional notes of an accompaniment struck as if in absence of mind.
The tune he knew, and as he passed through the first room towards the
sitting-room that looked on the sea he caught a line:

"Wely, wely, but love is bonny, for a little while--when it is new."

It was an old English ballad, the ballad of the "Cockle-shells," that
Edith used to sing often in the old days, when its note of melancholy
seemed best to express her happiness. It was only that line, and the
voice seemed to break, and there was silence.

He stole along and looked in. There was Edith, seated, her head bowed on
her hands, at the piano.

In an instant, before she could turn to the sound of his quick footsteps,
he was at her side, kneeling, his head bowed in the folds of her dress.

"Edith! I've been such a fool!"

She turned, slid from her seat, and was kneeling also, with her arms
thrown about his neck.

"Oh, Jack! You've come. Thank God! Thank Go